


amateur dramatics for professional athletes: a guide

by harlequin87



Category: Rugby Union RPF
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-05
Updated: 2020-09-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:41:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26304310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/harlequin87/pseuds/harlequin87
Summary: Harry is injured during a match, and Callum worries about him like a good boyfriend.
Relationships: Harry Randall/Callum Sheedy
Comments: 6
Kudos: 8





	amateur dramatics for professional athletes: a guide

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this](https://twitter.com/hazrandall9/status/1301980174519541760) Tweet and [this](https://www.instagram.com/p/CEwHtvyHot0/?igshid=1ch9qj8yrxlk9) Instagram post.
> 
> Set during and after last night's Worcester-Bristol match.

The match is going okay - well, even, if Callum had to be objective - when, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Harry drop to the ground, clutching at his knee.

It might just be cramp, he tells himself firmly, rushing forward to fill the scrumhalf role at the ruck. Harry’s going to be up in no time, grinning at him at the next water break because he’s made him worry, for the millionth time in the two years they’ve played together.

He picks up the ball, is about to pass to the right when he sees a space out to the left. He switches the pass, sending one of the backs - he couldn’t care less who it is right now, only that it’s not Harry - running forward at the Worcester line.

But then Barnes blows the whistle, five short, sharp blasts, and Callum knows that Harry’s not okay. He’s sometimes a little overdramatic, but it never lasts this long.

(He’s not a football player, whatever his hair may look like.)

Game stopped, he’s at Harry’s side before he has time to think. He glances from his face, twisted up in pain, to his white-knuckled hands grabbing at his knee. Callum looks through his fingers and instantly wishes he hadn’t - a wide slash in the flesh, just above the knee. Doesn’t look to have caught any muscles or ligaments, but his season - he can’t think about that right now.

He drops to one knee, cradling Harry’s head to him, in spite of his writhing. “Hey, baby,” he murmurs, soft enough so the medics attending to Harry’s leg won’t hear. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, little one. You’re okay.”

He doesn’t know who he’s trying to reassure, but Harry grabs round his neck and he thinks the message has got across. “I love you, baby,” he says desperately. Anything to block out the pained whines of his boyfriend. “You’re going to be fine.”

Harry presses his face into Callum’s knee, and he pets at his hair. That would be another advantage of having a crowd: it would hide his groaning. “Just some stitches, most likely,” one of the medics leans over to tell him.

He nods, gripping Harry’s hand all too briefly. “You’ll be okay, love.”

Harry forces a smile, squeezing his hand back. “You promise?”

“Yeah,” he says tightly. “Stitches, and then I’ll drive you home and we can finish off that Yorkshire programme you like with ice cream, yeah?”

Harry closes his eyes as the medics lever him to his feet. “Looking forward to it,” he grits out, and then Callum has to move away to let the medics get him off the pitch. He gets in one last pat to his stomach, trying to earn one last smile.

He watches as his boyfriend disappears down the tunnel, crossing his fingers that it’s only going to be stitches.

He won’t be back on this game, because it’s not a blood replacement, so he’ll at least have painkillers while the wound is sewn up. Small mercies, he supposed, and wrestles his attention back to the match.

He’ll see Harry soon.

It takes all his willpower to stop himself looking over at the bench in every stoppage of play. How long do stitches usually take? It’s a long cut, to be sure, but it’s been fifteen minutes. A minute per stitch? They need to be careful, and he wants Harry to be properly looked after (at least until he can check on him), but he needs to know he’s alright.

The last ten minutes of the game drag, despite the tries and the conversions he takes on autopilot. No new faces on the bench. He’s got to be fine. They’re just taking their time. That’s all.

The final whistle goes and he’s immediately looking over at the bench. Harry’s curled into the corner of one of the rows of seating, one leg propped up and chatting to Semi.

He looks happy enough, if a little hazy. Semi points to him as he jogs over - he definitely left Duncan Weir hanging but whatever, he has his priorities in order - and Harry turns to him with a smile.

“Hey, Haz!” he shouts, waving slightly.

“Nice kicking,” Harry replies, and Callum preens.

“How’s the leg?” He scrambles over the seats, taking the direct route to get to Harry.

The scrumhalf shrugs, rubs his fingers over a line of thick black stitches. “A bit ouchy, but they gave me a shot of... Something, anyway, so didn’t hurt too much. Not anymore.”

Callum ruffles his hair; the easiest display of affection they can get away with in public. “Good. It looked-” He shudders. “Bloody awful, like something out of a horror movie.”

Harry catches his hand, bringing it down between his own. “Yeah, well. They let me take a photo of it before they sorted it out. One for the ‘gram, or nah?”

He grimaces. “I’d be fine never seeing it again, but if you want the clout you should do it.”

Harry looks thoughtful for a second. “I’ll flag it for sensitive content or whatever, but it’s pretty cool.”

Callum taps the uninjured knee lightly, then pulls Harry to his feet. “Alright, then. Handshakes now - if you can walk?” He nods, though the grunt of discomfort as he puts weight on his leg makes Callum sling his arm round his waist and take some of the load.

They shuffle their way through the handshake line in tandem. Most of the lads laugh or roll their eyes at the way they’re pressed together, but a few look uncomfortable, shuffling onwards quickly. Callum decides he doesn’t want to think about them.

He helps Harry back through to the makeshift doctors’ area, letting him stand on his own two feet now they’re not moving around. He gets out his phone so he doesn’t look like he’s obviously listening to their conversation, and he can’t resist taking a quick picture of his boyfriend.

No stitches in shot - if Harry wants them online, that’s his decision - but he looks happy enough.

The conversation drags on, and he opens Twitter. A couple of emojis to lighten the mood, then he’s got a caption sorted. Harry will appreciate it, if nothing else.

He can tell when he checks his phone in the locker room and sees the tagged Tweet from the snort and gentle punch to the shoulder.

“Babe, I look like a twerp,” he complains, already composing his reply.

Callum shrugs. “It’s fine, love. The people just want to know you’re okay - it’s got a hundred likes already.”

Harry groans, out of annoyance this time. “Dickhead. I’ll have to make my Insta post good to make up for this.”

Callum leans in, daringly kisses his cheek. “If you insist. Now, do you still want to watch the Yorkshire thing, or can I escape it for tonight?”

Harry tries to kick him, but uses his bad leg and winces. “Look, even if you said it while you were panicking, it still counts in my book. Anyway, it’s great. Samuel West is hot as hell.”

Callum pinches him. “Whatever you say, babe. Hey, have you seen the replies to the Tweets?”

He shows his phone screen to his boyfriend, who shuffles even closer to peer at it. “Aw, they love us,” he coos, liking the replies before Callum has a chance to stop it. “My knight in shining armour.”

“Yeah, alright,” he says gruffly, locking his phone before Harry can do anything else. “I was worried about you, sue me.”

Harry pats his knee. “I know, baby,” he says, softer now. Too soft for a victorious locker room, probably, but Callum always understands what he’s trying to say. “I appreciate it.”

“Love you too,” Callum murmurs, and then Pat’s clapping for their attention. He might have to watch Harry’s Yorkshire programme and eat ice cream when they get home, but he can’t find it in himself to care. Anything for Harry, and he knows Harry would do the same for him.

**Author's Note:**

> The Yorkshire programme referenced is the new adaptation of 'All Creatures Great and Small' - would recommend!


End file.
